Two Death Scenes, Both Tulalip

🥀 

You know, one of the unusual things about modern first world life is how infrequently we witness human death.  I was able to visit my mother's parents shortly before and my own parents shortly before their passings also.  But the only times I was an actual witness were with people out on the Reservation.

The first case I will mention was my friend Winny, an Assiniboine from northern Montana. How she ended up in Tulalip would be a long story. Her tribe were about the same people as the Sioux, but usually lived over the border into Canada.

She wrote grants for various local Indian Tribes to submit to the BIA.  When I first knew her she was 56 years old, but retired from government work.

There were about a dozen of us local women who met up at her house for a variety of reasons.  Sometimes just to sit and talk, sometimes to do a bit of Bible study, or work on some project or other.  She and I used to like to go do our grocery shopping in the small local city at 2 and 3 AM.  Then we would stop and get coffee and pie at Shari's.

We were a varied group.  Most of us were much younger than Winny.  She served horrible, weak, supermaket coffee and whatever she had in the way of snacks, just like we were her kids.  We just went along with it.  She smoked, and so did I and a couple of the others.  It was a continuing stop and start bull session, and tea party and place to cry, if needed.  There were at least 20 children represented by all the moms.  Some of us were really square and some were not.  We all did fine.   I was the only fire department member in the group.

Eventually, Winny got sick.  It was discovered that she had Pancreatic Cancer.  So we all did what we could to support her.  She was divorced, so no help there and her one child lived in Oregon and was busy.  

It didn't take long.  I remember helping her on and off the toilet.  We made raw juice for her, but it was really too late for that.  I drove her to the doctor.  I helped with her stupid little dog named Please.  She lost her hair.  She sat looking like death in her chair until death showed up.

One night I got a call from one of the other girls who said I better get up there if I wanted to see her off.  So I zoom up the hill to be with her.

Death was quiet.  First she was breathing.  Then she just wasn't.  She was just really gone. No drama at all.

 Her death was surely hastened by the morphine that the hospice people were giving her to try to stay ahead of her pain.  I was angry in a sort of helpless way about that.  They actually did kill her.

Then there were things to do, the things women have always done.  We removed the dog from her lap.  The dog was very confused.  Her son was called and informed.  Someone called the funeral home.  They showed up and took her into their vehicle.  So then there were a few more things to do, we needed to get rid of some stuff in the room.  None of this is anything but earthy, and then Ceceilia and I went to pick an outfit for her burial, in her bedroom.  Now, Winny wore pants exclusively in her later years, but she had skirts and dresses.  So, just as a final joke, Ceil and I picked a skirt outfit for her and everything including underwear.  I remarked that this bra looked comfy, and we had to laugh hysterically for a minute.  Comfort was moot.

There was a funeral.  There was the disbursement of her home and goods.  She left a bit of cash for each of us who had helped her in her last days.

She was raised as a Catholic, but became a Baptist by the time I knew her.

She was my closest Indian friend.

★🌟★

My other story was at an aid call.  An elderly white man was evidently dying.  He had been a sports writer for a magazine or something like that.  He was, in a small way, a known person.

His wife called us because she wasn't sure if he could be helped or if he was dying.  She just needed somebody to come and say what it was I guess.

I remember that the boys did some resuscitation attempts on him, mostly for her sake.  No go.  He was leaving the building.  Last time I saw him his eyes were still focusing but that was all.  No breath.

I stepped outside with his wife.  She asked me if he was gone now and I said "almost".  It seemed to be a process that took a few minutes.

I wasn't present for the wrap-up of his life. of course.  Not my job as an EMT.

👶

(As an EMT, btw, my one regret was that the midwife beat me to the house where a baby was coming!  I wanted to catch one!  Oh well.)

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If anyone wants to play, I'm game.  😉